


Slow Dancing

by honeybun



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Filthy Feel Good Fic, Fluff, M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybun/pseuds/honeybun
Summary: It’s a Sunday afternoon when Credence realises that he’s in love with Percival Graves. Like a really, truly, madly, deeply kind of deal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I'm just transferring and editing my little fics from tumblr~ 
> 
> You can find me there @ weepingstar xoxox

It all starts because Graves had heard Credence singing along to the wireless one day when he’d come home early. He had taken care not to set off the wards, had walked silently to the lounge in which Credence was situated.

His boy, for lack of better vocabulary, was dancing. Credence had swayed and stepped carefully around the lounge furniture, eyes drifting closed and hands clutched to his chest. Graves had watched for longer than he’d meant to, had reluctantly padded back to the door to set off the bell which would give Credence time enough to get himself together before greeting Graves.

Graves could see the long and graceful legs of Credence stepping deftly around his dreams, thought to himself about cradling the boy's shoulders in his arms and dancing slowly and close together, foreheads touching.

 

Dear Credence calls it _The Realisation_ , when he's very much definitely alone, fretting over what on Earth he might do if his Mr. Graves might find out. _The Realisation_ is when Credence remembers the feeling of his heart growing ten sizes bigger, how he felt he would melt onto the plush carpet if he was this happy for a moment longer, how he thought he would do anything for Percival Graves.

What happens is, Graves brings home a record player.

Credence doesn’t understand how his guardian could know about his secret pleasure, blushes hotly when presented with such a gift. Then Mr. Graves begins to put on his old favourite records in the evening, Credence shares with him, a small and shy secret, that he had never been allowed to listen to music before, had only ever been able to listen to dreary hymns, maybe linger at a street corner to hear the buskers. But never before had he heard music such as that Mr. Graves plays for him. Often Mr. Graves seemed to take on a pained expression when Credence shares such secrets, a tightness in his brow, a barely concealed anger behind the eyes. Credence tries to remember to keep some things to himself, but when he sees Graves he often loses some cognitive function in place of hanging on Graves' every word, catching each of his little expressions. 

But on that fateful Sunday afternoon, with Mr. Graves feeling quite loose limbed and content with Credence’s food in his belly and a glass of firewhiskey in his hand, Mr. Graves asks if he would like to dance. Credence refuses at first, of course, _of course_. Says he never learnt how to dance, never really had the coordination either, probably, and as Graves gets more and more insistent, Credence declares that he has no _interest_ in dancing. Now, Graves knows this to be a lie.

Mr. Graves laughs as loud as Credence has ever heard, making him snap his head up in shock, Graves then gently taking Credence’s wrists and pulling him to his feet. Holding on tightly, Graves assures him that he won’t step on Credence’s toes, coaxes Credence to put a shaky hand on his shoulder, while Graves' rests on his waist. The other still firmly holding Credence’s chilly and graceful fingers.

 

This is where Credence knows he’s gone, well and truly ruined, because for the entirety of the afternoon, all Graves does is dance with Credence, teaches him to quick step, waltz, but mainly holds him closely and tightens his hand whenever Credence tries to beg off. Graves never becomes impatient with him, presses his chest close to Credence’s, has a lightness in his eyes that Credence had never seen in another human being before now.

Credence realises he loves Mr. Graves on a Sunday afternoon, slow dancing with the man that saved him, with music slowly fading out in the background as the record comes to a stop. Percival Graves finally holds the boy he loves in his arms, a soft warm cheek against his stubbled one, Credence’s awkward feet sometimes knocking against his, warm in the knowledge that even if his love isn’t requited, he has this one moment which he could live on forever.

 

There is a house in New York with slow music drifting through an open window, the rain now quite heavy and making the carpet sodden, the window left that way out of absentmindedness. It’s occupiers, quite besotted and not really realising at all what might be going on in the outside world, can barely remember anything but the room they’re in and the feeling of being pressed against one another, and the feeling of being safe, and the feeling of love.


End file.
